


Abandoned WIPs

by Shinsun



Category: Haikyuu!!, Hotblood!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Multi, Skinny Love and the Steven Universe AU For Instance, Some Of These Are Bits Of Other Fics, Various ships, just FYI, various fandoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinsun/pseuds/Shinsun
Summary: A collection of works I started at some point or other but don't intend to finish...just the way to ring in the new year, right?





	1. It's (Not) That Simple - IwaOi oneshot

**Author's Note:**

> Lysapadin gave me the idea, some of these have been sitting in my docs for months or years and it's just...such a shame to leave them there. Some of the writing and ideas are actually really good, I think, but I just don't ever see these fics getting completed, at least not anytime in the forseeable future. 
> 
> So here you go, a little something to snack on for New Years while I'm working on my main fics (and possibly a couple more new ones that hopefully won't be joining this list).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A oneshot I was planning in which Oikawa and Kuroo dish over his weird dysfunctional relationship with Iwaizumi. I kinda just...ran out of steam and never got around to finishing it.

“If you don’t want to hang out, you can just say so, you know.” Even through his phone’s tiny speaker, the exasperation and pity in Kuroo’s voice came through loud and clear. “You don’t have to make up stories to make your lonely little life seem less pathetic.”

 

“Rude, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa huffed, hovering his thumb over the screen and considering threatening to hang up. No, Kuroo would just call his bluff, since he was the one who’d called. “And I’m not making up stories, I  _ do _ have plans tomorrow. The new Destiny expansion is out and Iwa-chan wants to play, he gets dibs on my free time since he outranks you.”

 

He expected Kuroo to return with something playfully nasty, or spring to his own defense; what he didn’t expect was total silence on the other end. Long enough for him to check his phone to make sure he hadn’t suddenly lost reception. 

 

“Still there?”

 

His speaker crackled with Kuroo’s sigh,  “Yeah, but dude, didn’t you guys break up like...last week?”

 

“Five days ago,” Oikawa corrected him airily, “So?”

 

“What do you mean ‘ _ so?’ _ ” Kuroo demanded, “Did you really get back together that fast? After  _ that _ breakup? That’s insane, man. You’re insane. Give the wound some time to close before you go ripping the band-aid off, seriously...”

 

Oikawa gave up on trying to interject, and decided to just wait until he’d finished speaking, holding the phone at arm’s length even though Kuroo hadn't raised his voice yet.

 

“Thanks for the advice, Tetsu-chan,” he sing-songed once there was a pause, bringing the phone back into his lap, “But we’re not back together. Iwa-chan is still very much my ex, I think we made that pretty clear.” 

 

“Yeah, no shit, Kenma almost called the cops on you guys. Bokuto kept saying one of you was gonna die...”

 

“Did he end up crying after all?” Oikawa interrupted, examining his cuticles absently, “I thought he was going to.”

 

“Nah, Bo only cries at rom coms and animal shelters...and maybe high school graduations, we’ll have to wait and see.” Kuroo was quiet for a second, and then continued, “But that’s not the  _ point,  _ why the hell are you playing video games with the guy you were trying to put in the hospital five days ago?”

 

“It wasn’t that bad…” Oikawa protested, picking at the edge of an already abused band-aid on his chin.

 

“You lost a  _ crown, _ ” Kuroo retorted, incredulous.

 

“Just a filling, actually...”

 

“You practically gave Iwaizumi a _black eye,_ and, I reiterate, Kenma was going to _call the_ _cops,_ how is that not that bad?”

 

“We’ve had worse,” Oikawa shrugged, ignoring Kuroo’s disbelieving snort, “I think Iwa-chan was surprised I hit him back, though. Usually he hits, I shout. Or cry. Or both.”

 

“ _ Usually?” _ Kuroo echoed, and Oikawa had to bite his lips to keep from laughing, startled by the sheer level of shock in his voice. He hadn’t thought Kuroo was capable of sounding so surprised. “You mean this is a regular thing with you two?”

 

“Oh yeah, we’ve been on and off like this since like, the third grade. Our first ‘breakup’, Iwa-chan pushed me off a swing and I bit his arm...he had to get six stitches.”

 

“Christ,” Kuroo muttered, sounding like he was reeling, “How are you even still friends?”

 

“I dunno,” Oikawa said honestly, dismissively, leaning back against his headboard and laying his phone on his chest, “We’ve been together as long as either of us can remember, I guess it never occurred to us  _ not _ to be friends.”

 

“You guys are so freakish,” Kuroo sighed. Oikawa could vividly picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, “Like creepy telepathic Siamese twins or something. But seriously, why bother getting back together if you’re just gonna keep breaking up over and over ?”

 

Oikawa breathed a laugh, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a rueful smirk, “‘Cause when we are together it’s fucking awesome, that’s why.”

 

“Ooh. Naughty word, Tooru, I’m surprised at you,” Kuroo scolded, with a teasing lilt to his deep voice.

 

“Shut up, you and Kou-chan are worse.  _ Much _ worse.”

 

“Is this about the frozen ballsack argument? ‘Cause whatever you heard was probably a lot worse out of context -- you know what? I can tell you’re trying to change the subject, and I can respect that...but I can also, in good conscience,  _ not _ .”

 

“Why so interested in my love life, Tetsu-chan?” Oikawa simpered, “Jealous?”

 

“As if. Turns out you and Iwaizumi are an even bigger train wreck than I thought, I’m just trying to figure out  _ why _ . And how the hell it works without one of you getting killed, or at least getting a restraining order.”

 

“So we’ve got our issues, you’ve still gotta admit we’re good together,” Oikawa hummed, crossing one leg over the other, “Most of the time. We understand each other, so there’s very little internal drama, mostly just...life problems, and we can handle those.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Kuroo said slowly, seeming unconvinced, “So which part of the screaming fistfight in the middle of a parking lot was you two ‘handling’ this?”

  
  
  
  



	2. Just Relax - IwaOi oneshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another IwaOi oneshot, based on a comic I found on Tumblr awhile back, in which Iwaizumi tries to de-stress Oikawa before a match, but it's hard because Oikawa is a hopeless volleyball-head. The plot eventually just boiled down to porn and I never got around to writing that part so...it's kind of just been hanging there for a year or more and it's not worth buckling down to finish it anymore.

“The coast’s clear, but they’re still warming up out there and someone could always walk in. We’ll have to make this quick.”

 

Nodding absently without really listening, or caring about potential voyeurs or innocent bumpkins being scarred for life, Oikawa let Iwaizumi gently crowd him against the tile beside the stalls, close enough to feel the heat of his body, smell a minty hint of lingering toothpaste as he closed his lips briefly on Oikawa’s chin before starting to travel down his neck, lapping and sucking intermittently. 

 

“You’re way too tense,” Iwaizumi chided softly, slipping his hands under Oikawa’s jacket to grasp and knead at his shoulders, amid the slow, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to the sensitive column of his throat, his breath fluttering over the feverish skin bringing out a shiver. But Oikawa’s mind was far away, despite the warmth flooding his face and upper chest, and the uneven hitch on every inhale he sucked in; his body all too eager to respond to every touch, every press, every thrilling prick of teeth quickly soothed away by a warm, apologetic tongue. Every time he closed his eyes the stern, unruffled image of his ultimate opponent sprang up behind the lids, bearing down on him with the impervious, inevitable procession of a steamroller.

 

_ Just you wait, Ushijima… _ he thought viciously, fists clenching unconsciously at his sides as Iwaizumi started to peel his jacket down his trembling arms,  _ I’ll face you soon enough, and show you what Seijou is really capable of. Then you’ll be -- _

 

“Oi, Ass-kawa,” Iwaizumi snapped, stopping everything he was doing and fixing Oikawa with a hard, reproachful glare, “Would you quit thinking about volleyball for five fucking seconds and relax?”

 

Rather than protesting the interruption -- and the crude nickname that was pretty much an endearment at this point -- Oikawa just paused and gave him a slow, cunning smirk, tilting his head innocently to the side to bely the oncoming snark.

 

“You’ll only take five seconds, Iwa-chan? And here I thought you’d been training your  _ stamina…” _

 

He probably deserved the merciless jab in the ribs he got for that, but it was totally worth it, he thought, as Iwaizumi fell on him with far greater, more aggressive fervor, shedding his jacket roughly and discarding it before grabbing both his wrists and pinning them to the cold tiles over his head.

 

“This isn’t about me, shithead,” he growled, panting hotly a mere few centimeters from Oikawa’s face; a harsh, uncivilized gleam of lust and rage in his narrow eyes as he leaned in even closer, “It’s for  _ you _ to lose some tension and get your head in the game before it starts, why do you think we’re even here?”

 

“Right...focus,” Oikawa breathed, finding himself physically unable to look away, hopelessly captured by those burning, gorgeous eyes so close to his own. 

 

“And in order to focus...first you need to  _ relax _ ,” Iwaizumi murmured, loosening his grip on Oikawa’s wrists and lowering his hands between them, “Stop thinking.”

 

“Hmm,” Oikawa hummed thoughtfully, tracing his now freed fingers up the steely cables of Iwaizumi’s arm muscles and hooking them around behind his shoulder blade, “Even if I’m thinking about my big, strong, sexy Iwa-chan so selflessly sweeping me off my feet for the sake of the team?”

 

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes that had turned plain exasperated the moment he’d started talking, a lovely stripe of flustered scarlet blooming across the bridge of his nose and glowing at the tips of his ears. Grabbing Oikawa’s chin in his free hand, he placed a firm, chastising kiss on his cheek before finally, finally bringing their lips together.

 

They met with the familiarity of ages, knowing well by now not just how to please but how to drive each other crazy. There hadn’t been a shy kiss between them in almost half a decade, and all it took was a brief brush of contact for Oikawa’s fingers to snare in the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, pulling him to stand toe to toe, nearly bent backward as he lunged down to cover his open mouth with his own. Iwaizumi grunted low in his throat and pushed his shoulders hard against the wall, sucking and grabbing at his lips with his own.

 


	3. Yachi/Kiyoko oneshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really disappointed to say that this one is probably never gonna be finished. I was so excited for it, but I just don't think it's gonna happen the way I hoped.
> 
> The idea was Kiyoko asks Yachi out, and Yachi contemplates how her fans (especially Tanaka and Noya) are totally going to murder her when they find out. And Tanaka and Noya definitely do react...strongly at first, but in the end they're just sobbing that they've gotta be strong and protect Yachi at all costs since Kiyoko's granted her such a blessing.

It was about time Yachi accepted the fact that she was doomed. Canned, sunk, done for, she was most definitely going to die. For real this time. 

 

Not that her chances of meeting her end by untimely heart attack or volleyball to the face or common household accident had notably increased since yesterday afternoon, it was just that now, something much more threatening and poignant was looming over her head; something huge and inescapable and completely, absolutely deadly.

 

Yesterday afternoon, at approximately a quarter past six, Shimizu Kiyoko had asked her out.  _ The _ Shimizu Kiyoko, as in drop-dead gorgeous volleyball team manager, intimidating third year, and possible part-time superheroine. Yeah,  _ that _ Shimizu Kiyoko, had actually, factually asked little old Yachi Hitoka out, on a  _ date. _ It seemed outrageous, impossible, inconceivable, that she’d even taken the time out of her busy schedule to notice Yachi’s existence, much less view her as any sort of... _ dating _ material. It was an extraordinary offering of highest praise, truly a god-granted gift. But, unfortunately, it was also kind of a death sentence. 

 

Of course, Shimizu-senpai hadn’t meant it as such, she who could so easily be mistaken for an actual angel descended from heaven to grant humanity her light, but there was still no way that Yachi could see herself living through this. If Shimizu’s many fans and admirers didn’t hunt her down with pitchforks sharpened and torches alight, then Noya-san and Tanaka-san would surely take it upon themselves to put her in the ground. They were self-appointed to annihilate any poor, misguided soul who so much as spoke to their beloved Kiyoko-san, and bared their teeth and clenched their fists at all who dared to look upon her. What would they do to Yachi when they found out that she, in her feat of greatest hubris, had accepted a genuine  _ confession _ from her, and had agreed to  _ join _ her for  _ ice cream _ this coming Saturday? She would be bound to a stake and burned for her misdeeds, to be sure. 

 

As the gleaming doors of the gymnasium came into view, Yachi reflected solemnly on the frivolity of her short life. There were so many sights she would never get to see and experiences she would never get to have, because today would surely mark the end of her days. She was walking up the gallows now. Well, she was walking up the steps to the gym, actually, but once she entered, the clock would start ticking, and she was certain she would never again see the light of day. She supposed she might as well try to enjoy the nice weather; the soft summer breeze and the brightening blue sky and the filaments of sunshine creeping over the mountains, while she still could.

 

The doors had been unlocked, even this early in the morning -- presumably by one of the senpais to indulge the ridiculous first-year duo, both of whom had probably been waiting on the steps, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, after racing each other full-tilt up the concrete until they collapsed from (entirely temporary) exhaustion. They would, of course, be all too quick to spring to their feet once they’d caught their breath, ready to practice non-stop until the first bell rang, and then go right back at it again once the last one dismissed them from their respective classes. It was the same thing for Hinata and Kageyama almost every day without fail. 

 

It must be nice, Yachi found herself thinking as she somberly slipped on her gym shoes, to lead such simple, predictable and at least reasonably  _ safe _ lives. Granted, Hinata’s face had been violently introduced to a volleyball a pretty alarming number of times since he’d joined the team, to say nothing of the countless rip-your-arms-off spikes and serves he’d had to intercept, and both he and Kageyama seemed to make it their lives’ work to provoke and confront huge, terrifying rival players from other teams on a pretty regular basis, but there wasn’t anything  _ life-threatening _ about any of that. Nothing that even jeopardized their daily routine, in fact, and sure enough, when she looked up across the gym they were both already there, setting and spiking their crazy quick respectively without a care in the world. 

 

Yachi envied them both.

 

For the time being, apart from the two volleyball maniacs and herself, the gym was deserted. The others must be either in the club room, or still on their way to school. Or, in the decidedly non-morning person cases of Tsukishima and Ennoshita-san, quite possibly still asleep. Yachi allowed herself a moment to breathe, and to numbly reflect on the figurative guillotine looming over her head that would surely fall once Nishinoya-san or Tanaka-san caught the... _ scent _ of Shimizu’s approval on her, or something. 

 

It was kind of a shame...she had thought she was finally starting to get the hang of this whole manager thing, and had even enjoyed what she’d been able to do for the team so far. She was finally part of something that made her feel fulfilled, and proud, and excited; it was a pity it had to end up being so short-lived. Shimizu would probably be upset, and so would Hinata; they’d both put in a pretty strong effort to get her to join in the first place, and had even seemed genuinely happy to have her there. It was kind of nice, she thought as she dragged some folding chairs out from behind the stage, to have friends. Nice while it lasted, anyway.

  
  
  



	4. AoKaga oneshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really love the fluidity of the writing in this one. The entire idea was that Aomine and Kagami start dating and have no idea what they're doing, and they fumble around each other and awkwardly try to figure it out together and it's great. Unfortunately that idea didn't provide the best structure for a plot to happen aaaand it kinda just trailed off. So sad.

Aomine wanted to scratch his nose. It was itchy, and the sweat that had run down from his forehead had made it slick and uncomfortable, tickling his nostrils when they flared with his labored breathing and beading hot and salty on his upper lip. 

 

The trouble was, Kagami was standing right there, eyes locked on him, stance wide and toes light, leaning into his space and flexing his fingers for the ball that leapt rhythmically between Aomine’s hand and the scorching tarmac under their feet. 

 

Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue. Normally, even with Kagami watching his every move, he would lift up his shirt to wipe the sweat off, scratch his nose and maybe even pick it in front of him; maybe make eye-contact while he did it and laugh out loud if Kagami expressed disgust. It was  _ Kagami, _ after all. Kagami and basketball, could anything be more straightforward and familiar and altogether normal? 

 

But this wasn’t normal. None of this was. Even this game, though entirely ordinary in and of itself, was so far from normal it was actually starting to give Aomine the creeps. His stomach felt cramped, his throat tight; his legs felt like rubber and his usually direct and efficient play style was full of holes and unnecessary movements.

 

Since when had basketball ever made him feel nervous? Since when had  _ Kagami _ ever put him off his stride? Too self-conscious to show his skin or touch his face or even breathe through his mouth, though his lungs were shriveling up in his chest with the effort of holding himself back. He was practically suffocating over here, his nose was itching and now sweat was starting to drip in his eyes and mouth, and for what? Whose fault was it, that he hadn’t been himself all afternoon...or even able to recall what he was supposed to be  _ like _ , for that matter?

 

_ Is this how I normally stand? Is this how I normally dribble? Do I normally blink this much? _

 

“Hey,” Kagami -- yes, the culprit behind his internal anarchy -- broke the relative silence at last, his voice sounding breathy and strangely magnified, as he wet his lips and looked aside briefly, “Shouldn’t we...I mean…” he paused, and then seemed to mentally shy away from something, shaking his head quickly, “What are we doing?”

 

Aomine snorted, scrambling for his usual front of derision before he opened his mouth, “What do you mean? We’re playing a match, and sweating our collective balls off…” The halfhearted jab of humor was strained, and, much as he tried to bolster it, his voice still came out weak, and trailed off midway. “What else would we be doing?” 

 

“You know what I mean,” Kagami insisted, swallowing hard before standing up straight, “We...we are going out now, aren’t we? Shouldn’t we be...I don’t know…”

 

“What?” Aomine prompted, also straightening, his hard, focused dribbling falling away to idly bouncing the ball at his side.

 

“... _ Going out? _ ” Kagami repeated, seeming frustrated, “Doing things...things other than basketball?”

 

“You don’t wanna play basketball?” Aomine asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow as he caught the ball one-handed and propped it against his hip.

 

“No! I -- of course I do, I just...shouldn’t things be different? Now that we’re -- ?”

 

“ -- dating?” It felt weird to say out loud, thick and unwieldy in his mouth, and Aomine frowned as he considered the dilemma. 

 

It had been almost a week since Kagami had blurted out some kind of rushed, cobbled-together mess of feelings and questions that (barely) passed for a confession, and sort of implicitly asked Aomine out in the process. He must have been more wrapped up in the fear of rejection and ridicule than anything else, because he had seemed completely floored when Aomine actually accepted. Blinking and stammering as if he hadn’t believed his ears, before going a deep, cherry red that put his vibrant hair to shame, and quickly changing the subject.

 

Aomine had been pretty shocked too, and had floundered just as much as Kagami once he realized what had just come out of his mouth, but he hadn’t taken it back, and didn’t plan to. He couldn't explain it but there was something about Kagami, there had always been, that had kind of already, automatically put the idea of...them...together... _ together _ together, into the realm of the possible, and maybe even the acceptable. Something about the contrast between the snark and banter he lashed right back at Aomine, and what he looked like while he did it. 

 

Bottom line, there was something about a guy saying “ _ I hate you,”  _ with his mouth and “ _ you're beautiful,”  _ with his eyes that created a category that probably shouldn't exist between  _ “bitter rival _ ” and “ _ um...crush? _ ” and pulled a word of strangled acceptance unbidden and immediately  from Aomine's throat.  And in the days following that massive moment, and the tiny spell of relief and mutual agreement that had come after...absolutely nothing of note happened. 

 

He felt like something...kind of should've happened. Like in one of those shoujo romance novels where new lovers fall into each other’s arms amid a swirling pink flurry of hearts and roses. That kind of thing. But no, after that earth-shattering split-second that had thrilled and terrified them both, and probably rearranged the fucking cosmos in its wake, life...just seemed to go on as normal. The sun still came up in the morning, and went down at night; the world kept on turning, none the wiser to the extraordinary phenomenon that should have shaken it to its core.

 

Spinning the ball between his fingers, feeling the worn tread roll over his skin like braille, he watched the indented stripes and markings smear into a darker wash around the ruddy orange blur, pressing his tongue into his cheek in thought. 

 

“Did you have something specific in mind?” He asked, glancing up to meet Kagami’s uncertainly defensive, defensively uncertain gaze.

 

Kagami blinked, and his jaw went slack with something that looked like surprise, taken aback, “Not -- not really,” he said quickly, ducking his head away and raking a flustered hand through his bangs, tussling them in a way that made Aomine’s throat suddenly feel like sand, “I was just thinking…” He straightened, biting his lip uncertainly, a pretty flush settling on his high cheekbones.  _ Christ, where did all the air go? _ Aomine thought desperately, staring, suffocating, “I don’t know, even something stupid like going to the movies or an amusement park or whatever. Couples shit, you know?”

 

“An amusement park,” Aomine echoed blankly, uncomprehending, captivated by the rhythmic flex of Kagami’s throat as it slowly dawned on him that he was losing his fucking mind. 

 

“Well...it doesn’t have to be  _ that, _ just…something like that. Something different. You know. If you want.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually still...really attached to this idea, and if I ever get my drive back, I may go back and finish it (that's the case with a couple of these, actually), but for now, this is what I've got.


	5. Softly - AoKuro oneshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great big idea became a really small fic. Aomine's a cop, Kuroko's his boyfriend. In the middle of the night Kuroko handcuffs him to the bed and has his way with him. This was years ago...I was trying to rectify the lack of bottom Aomine and top Kuroko in the world, but I didn't get very far.

There were times when Aomine seriously considered that being with Tetsu might be hazardous to his health. Not even counting all the times the sneaky little bastard sprung up out of thin air and damn near startled him into cardiac arrest, nor the frequent, punishing jabs from those sharp little hands and elbows that were probably going to rupture his spleen or something someday, it was things like this that had him convinced his little “shadow” was going to be the death of him eventually. Things like being woken up from a pretty fantastic dream (involving reaching the top in the NBA championship and being handed an enormous and rather phallic trophy by a smiling, scantily dressed and boobalicious as ever Mai-chan) to lingering presses of Tetsu’s lips against his throat, and slowly starting to relinquish the fantasy and melt under the reality of those gently insistent kisses and nibbles...only to find himself suddenly pinned flat on his back with slender, but incredibly strong thighs caging him on either side, those wicked, cold little hands snapping a pair of handcuffs ( _ his _ handcuffs, he might add) around his wrists, trapping them over his head. 

 

“What the hell, Tetsu?” he groused as his squinting eyes adjusted to the darkness, voice still muzzy with sleep, but lacking the bite that would speak of any true displeasure. He tested his bonds experimentally, to find that Tetsu had apparently threaded the chain through one of the slats of the headboard behind him. It seemed like he wasn’t going to be going anywhere for awhile.

 

Tetsu, still straddling his waist and holding him down, shushed him with a light, fleeting kiss on his lips, and slid his chilly fingers soothingly down Aomine’s long, well-muscled arms.

 

“I apologize for interrupting, Officer,” he murmured softly against Aomine’s lips, his ice blue eyes flashing in the gloom, “It does seem you were rather... _ involved _ in your previous pursuits…” As he spoke, he nudged against the stirring of desire that had started to stand to attention between Aomine’s thighs with his knee.

 

_ Oh, so we’re playing  _ that _ game are we? _ Aomine thought dazedly. It wasn’t the first time -- and probably wouldn’t be the last -- that he’d wound up in a situation such as this, more or less at Tetsu’s mercy when the devious little shit decided to have his way with him. But it was the first time he’d  _ woken up _ to it, and while the definitely  _ non- _ morning person part of his brain was kind of put out by that, the significantly larger portion that relished Tetsu’s dominating attention and craved after any excuse for his touch was only getting more fired up by the softly whispered words and the light teasing and caressing of those delicate fingers against his skin.


	6. Sands of Time Chapter 1 -  Multichapter AoKaga (?) Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. This one's ancient; I distinctly remember fishing it out of my old google drive and transferring it over when my school email was getting shut down. Yeah, that old.
> 
> So I don't remember what the endgame ship was gonna be but basically, Momoi's a young princess in some kind of Arabian setting, Aomine is her bodyguard and can turn into a panther at will. Kuroko's a thief, and Kagami is his companion who can turn into a tiger, and they...kidnap Momoi? I think? And at some point it turns shippy but the point is this fic was way too ambitious for my skill level at the time and it's never getting finished now (I still lowkey love the idea tho which is why this snippet still clings to life).

Days like this, Aomine overheated no matter what he did. The shade offered little respite; the very air was arid and sweltering, greedily sucking the moisture from his skin until he wondered if he would just shrivel up like a dried date. It also seemed to drain him of his energy; all he wanted to do was lie on the palace steps and take a nap….but for one little problem that insisted on preventing him from dozing off.

“Dai-chan!” Satsuki prodded in her tiny, shrill voice, stamping one sandaled foot, “Play with me!”

Aomine yawned lazily, scratching his cheek and trying to get more comfortable against the wide stone stairs, “Buzz off, Satsuki, can’t you see I’m busy?”

“You’re not busy, you big meanie!” she protested, shoving his shoulder with her small hands, “Come on, let’s play. By order of the princess.”

Aomine rolled his eyes, though he had to chuckle at her little pout as she attempted to look regal, only managing hopelessly adorable. “Fine, as Her Majesty commands...but later, okay?” 

He stretched his arms out in front of him with an enormous yawn, and midway through the task his outstretched fingernails curled into wicked claws, fangs filling his mouth opened wide as his tongue curled and thick, glossy black fur cloaked his body, all the way to the tip of the tail that had sprouted from his spine. Flopping back down on the stairs, he folded his paws under his chin and surveyed Satsuki with half-lidded indigo eyes, pupils only thin slashes in their depths.

The young princess was unfazed, and proceeded to glare at him stubbornly, crossing her arms, “No, now, Dai-chan! I’m bored!”

Huffing with exasperation, Aomine resorted to a tactic that rarely worked where the little nuisance was involved; he ignored her, closing his eyes and pretending she wasn’t there. Only a few moments of blissful silence passed, and he wondered fleetingly if she would just give up when she saw his blatant lack of interest. He should have known better.

A sudden weight dropped onto his back, tackling him, and he instinctively flipped over with a snarl, baring his teeth at the girl now sitting heavily on the soft fur of his stomach. Again, she showed neither surprise nor fear, only a bold refusal to surrender in her pestering.

“Get off me,” he growled, lightly pushing her with one huge paw.

“Not until you pinky swear you’ll play with me,” Satsuki sniffed importantly, holding out one miniscule, dainty pinky finger.

_ I’m getting too damn old for this, _ Aomine thought wearily, tail tip flicking in annoyance, but he already knew he’d lost this battle. He could never really say no to his little princess….though not for lack of trying.

“Pleeease, Dai-chan?” Satsuki pleaded, rosy eyes turning round and shimmering as she poked him in the face with her extended pinky.

Aomine sighed so deeply that his whiskers twitched, “Alright, alright, I give,” he rumbled, “Just stop with the puppy-dog eyes.” He unsheathed his claws and gently hooked one around Satsuki’s little finger, careful not to apply pressure and risk cutting her delicate skin, “Pinky swear. Now lemme up.”

“Yay!” Satsuki cheered, jumping up immediately and clapping her hands with excitement, her voice turning authoritative once her little celebration was over, “Now close your eyes and count to fifty, and then try to find me.”

_ Hide-and-seek?  _ Aomine thought derisively as he rolled over onto his belly, but he nodded and complied all the same, letting his eyes droop shut again and counting in an exaggeratedly slow, carrying voice, “Oooooone….twooooo…”

He heard Satsuki’s stifled little squeal of playful fright, and then her pattering footsteps quickly retreating. He waited a moment, before chuckling softly with a silent self-congratulations, and curling his tail to rest it over his nose,  _ Peace and quiet at last… _

.

 

.

A scream jerked Aomine from his slumber. He hadn’t honestly meant to drift off, just revel in the silence for awhile before going after Satsuki as promised, but the heat and his relaxed position must have lulled him into sleep’s waiting arms. Judging from the shadows, not even an hour had passed, but some time definitely had; he wondered why Satsuki hadn’t circled back to scold him for dawdling. 

Which brought him back to the scream. Getting his paws under him, he stood up and paced the palace steps, more anxiously than he would have liked to admit, ears pricked for something that would tell him where that shriek had come from. It had sounded gut-wrenchingly like Satsuki’s voice, though he stubbornly denied to himself that she could be in trouble.

 


	7. Groundwork - AsaRook oneshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, back when Hotblood! was still relevant, remember those days? 'Course you don't, there are only like ten people in the fandom anymore.
> 
> Anyway this was gonna be a PWP for Asa and Rook but obviously...it didn't reach completion. I seem to have a hard time with oneshots, especially when they're just porn.

To be honest, James hadn’t counted on getting into his boss’s pants when he signed up for this job. But then...he also hadn’t counted on keeping said job for such an extended stretch of time, and he’d sworn to himself ruthlessly that the accidental flirting and not-so-accidental steamy makeout sessions -- as well as other... _ bonuses _ that he’d actually worried would be taken out of his paycheck at first -- had absolutely nothing to do with his reluctance to part with a certain Asa Langley. He’d just gotten... _ comfortable _ here, that was all. 

 

Not that there was anything physically comfortable about Larkspur in the slightest; craggy congregations of mountains and rock-strewn, brittle grass didn’t exactly leave room for luxury, but at least it was a wide open space under the endless western sky. And well, if nothing else, the rugged terrain was good for his hooves. He’d even considered asking Ms. Holiday to pry off his shoes and let him try going barefoot for awhile.

 

Though keeping down his hoof growth was far from the real reason he’d decided to stick around here a little longer than he’d planned. He wished he could say there was a certain charm he’d found in his new employer, but of course, any person with an ounce of sense would say that even on a good day, Asa was about as charming as a cactus and twice as prickly. It wasn’t as if he was on his knees thanking James in return for all he did, either. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever heard Asa thank him for anything, and supposedly they did bicker like an old married couple, as he’d heard Ms. Holiday snicker behind her hand once. Maybe that was part of what kept James under the same roof as the guy though, oddly enough. He was a challenge. A cocky, disrespectful, greedy bastard with terrible teeth and a worse sense of humor, but certainly never a bore.

 

He didn’t think Asa had meant to initiate their first kiss the way he had. Not that there was much potential for accidental liplocking when James practically towered over him, but he’d seemed just as surprised as James was when he’d broken away that first time, after jerking him down by his shirt lapels and practically trying to suck off his face. James didn’t know what he’d said or done right to get  _ that _ kind of reaction, but he’d found himself suspiciously less opposed to staying in Asa’s good graces ever since...chipping in with the odd unexpected favor now and again, or agreeing with him even when he was spouting total and very obvious bullshit. But Asa hadn’t seemed keen on doing it again, though he seemed fine with the usual teasing banter and casual leaning against James’ withers and flanks, and it had taken James a long time to puzzle out that the ball was in fact in his court now, and it was his turn to instigate. And here he’d thought that if Asa wanted something, he would just take it.

 

That second kiss had been significantly longer….under the shade of the office’s awning, a small stack of unfiled reports held loosely, forgotten, in one of James’ hands as the other sifted through Asa’s hair; prying open his mouth with his own and pushing in with his tongue, edging from tentative lapping and exploring into hot, wet, and messy. They’d both been flushed, clothing and hair alike rumpled, when they’d finally stepped off the porch, and neither had met the other’s eye for at least half an hour afterwards.

 

Some rather awkward attempts involving several misinterpreted signals and a narrowly avoided broken nose later, they both gradually grew comfortable with the idea, and in time kissing became as casual as touching, or maybe even eye-contact had been between them before. It got to the point where James suspected Asa had to make conscious effort to remember it wasn’t something they did in public; he’d seen the greed-filled look he sometimes got, and how he would tilt his head back and reach his hands up slightly, only to force them back down when he remembered he was in front of Feng or one of his other underlings. In private it hadn’t extended far past kissing and some rather suggestive touches thus far, but naturally, as they both got bolder and dropped more reserves, it had to escalate further eventually.

 

Which was how James had ended up here, leaning over the back of the sofa that served as a bed with his boss trying to wrestle him out of his shirt impatiently, biting and sucking at his lips and tongue.

 

“Be  _ patient _ ,” he managed between the crashes of mouths stifling hungry moans; it came out like a gasp.

 

“I think,” Asa replied, fumbling with the buttons and sounding just as breathless as he was,“As your boss, I should be the one giving orders.”

  
  
  
  
  



	8. Skinny Love Chapter 2 - Multichapter Iwaoi Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the first chapter of this one did get done, and I was planning for there to be three, but...for some reason I just really wasn't comfortable with the writing style here and couldn't find any other way to progress the action. So it's just...more angst, more Oikawa suffering, I guess. There was gonna be closure at the end, I promise, but I don't think I'll be getting back into this one anytime soon.

_ I told you to be patient _

_ I told you to be fine _

_ I told you to be balanced _

_ I told you to be kind _

_ In the morning I'll be with you _

_ But it will be a different kind _

_ 'Cause I'll be holding all the tickets _

_ And you'll be owning all the fines _

***

 

It was probably noon when Oikawa’s eyes squinted open, their heavy lids dragging up with difficulty, burning and itching with restless sleep and the light that slanted through his bedroom window right into the back of his skull. The first thing he noticed was the soft weight of the comforter that had been laid over him, tucked in at the sides with more careful precision than he would have bothered with. And yet despite his obvious influence and attention to Oikawa’s relative comfort, Iwa-chan was nowhere to be seen. On the table directly next to his bed, a sheet of hastily torn paper caught his wandering eye. 

 

Expecting an explanation, he was surprised upon picking up the note to find just two very brief lines of shaky characters scrawled on it. At the top, in Iwa-chan’s distinctive messy hand, were simply the words  _ ‘Eat something’. _ And below that, like an afterthought, the emergency phone number 119, circled haphazardly for emphasis. The implied choice (or threat, perhaps?) came through loud and clear. 

 

Heaving a sigh, he pushed himself to sit up, letting the blanket fall in his lap and rubbing his aching eyes with one hand. Per usual, he had slept soundly but not well, and still felt just as drained as had while leaning on Iwa-chan’s shoulder last night, eyes half-focused on the screen as he drifted in and out of darkness intermittently. He didn’t really sleep anymore; he shut down, out of necessity more than habit, when the very last reserves of his fuel burned out. He couldn’t recount any dreams from the past few weeks either, just blackouts between long periods of exhausted wakefulness. For all his protests concerning the assumption, Iwa-chan hadn’t actually been too far off to accuse him of passing out yesterday.

 

Stretching one arm, then the other over his head, he felt the unpleasant pull of muscle with barely any padding dragging over bones, hissing a slow breath between his teeth as the tension gradually eased but didn’t dissipate entirely. Then he rolled to his feet, flexing his numb toes to encourage circulation and carefully, strenuously bending and limbering up his legs. A process that took a lot more time and effort than it used to, and still left them feeling sore, if a little less stiff and prickly.

 

There had been a time when he would have performed some more complex exercises in front of a floor-length mirror to make sure his body was loose and warmed up before he did anything else, but after awhile, the mirror only ever saw him half-stripped down, critically scanning his bare torso and pinching skin between his fingers. When he’d returned home from the hospital, he had found it removed from his room. He suspected his mother was behind its disappearance, but in a way, he was oddly relieved not to have to face it anymore. Not that taking one mirror away did that much to help; they were still everywhere, in every restroom and car window and puddle in the street.

  
  
  
  



	9. The Crystal Gems Chapter 3 - Haikyuu!! Steven Universe AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I don't see the Steven Universe AU being continued any further...I had a plot for it but it was kind of vague and complicated and got kind of lost somewhere in the middle of this chapter (which I actually started BEFORE I wrote anything else for this fic). I still really like the writing itself and the flow of the dialogue, but I can already tell that it's gonna be a bitch to make this work, and it doesn't seem worth struggling over right now.

 

“Hey, Bokuto!” Kuroo called, rapping his knuckles against the tall metal door. From the dull sound of the echo, Hinata guessed that it was incredibly thick. “I’ve come to help babysit His Snobbish Majesty!”

 

With a wave of intense heat and a screech of grinding metal, the door slid open, receding seamlessly into the wall. Inside the Forge it was a good deal hotter and dimmer, the only light source a glowing waterfall of molten metal pouring from the ceiling on the opposite wall, out of which a tall, broad-shouldered gem was pulling his fist, the hilt of what looked like a half-sculpted sword clenched between his red-hot fingers.

 

“Oho?” the person asked, blowing on the blazing hot handle in his hand to cool it, “Was the brat promoted to Diamond when I wasn’t looking?”

 

“Sure acts like it,” Kuroo smirked, lightly nudging Hinata forward and into the spacious room, which, with the darkness combined with the enormous, oppressive heat, somehow still seemed oddly cramped. Kuroo waved a hand to the gem that shared his height and powerful build, currently eyeing the orange-tipped chunk of smoldering metal in his grip. “Hinata, meet Bokuto Koutarou, self-appointed weapon-smith for the Rebellion. Bo, this is our newest recruit, Hinata Shouyou. Noya and Asahi found him in the abandoned Beta Kindergarten this morning.”

 

“A Jasper, eh?” Bokuto grinned, tossing the half-finished sword aside with a jarring clang and bending down to peer at Hinata with curious, gleaming gold eyes, “Damn, you barely come up yay high on me, how long were you in there?”

 

“Long enough,” Kuroo cut in sweetly, before Hinata could do more than open his mouth, “Anyway, how goes the babysitting? This troublemaker give you any...well, trouble?” 

 

He gestured with a hand to the left-hand side of the Forge, where, next to a metal rack bolted into the wall, practically sagging under the weight of the molded steel artifacts piled onto it, another tall gem Hinata hadn’t noticed before was leaning on one shoulder, ankles crossed and narrow eyes gleaming darkly in the firelight. He had black hair like Kuroo, but it didn’t stand up and instead lay completely flat, shadowing his face and making him look positively menacing in this already foreboding enough environment.

 

“Nah, he’s been pretty quiet actually,” Bokuto shrugged, throwing a glance at his alleged supervisee (prisoner? Hinata was a little unclear on what the agreement was exactly, if there was one), before returning his attention to his other company, “The odd question or comment here and there, but he seems to’ve cooled off a lot since yesterday.”

 

“I should hope so,” Kuroo smirked grimly, “Yesterday he was still trying to hack our faces off with his --”

 

“Or,” the other gem interrupted all of the sudden, raising his head and glaring at them both with what Hinata could now see were fiercely dark blue eyes, “You could  _ not _ talk about me like I’m not here.”

 

Kuroo and Bokuto blinked at each other, and then the former’s smirk snapped right back into place, with a tinge of mocking this time, “I’m sorry Your Highness, was there something you wanted to say? I had gathered you weren’t exactly the chatty type...”

 

“Fuck you,” the other gem snarled, digging his fingers into his sides as he seemed to cross his arms tighter.

 

Kuroo paused, as if thoughtfully considering the crude statement, and then nodded with another sarcastically sweet smile, “Thank you for the input, that was most insightful. Let me know when you’re ready to  _ civilly _ join our conversation though, won’t you?”

 

“He’s still got a grudge against you, huh?” Bokuto loud-whispered, hardly attempting to hide his mouth behind a hand.

 

“A grudge?” Hinata cut in, curiosity threatening to burst once again, “What for?”

 

“Kuroo and Daichi were the ones who disarmed this guy in battle, when a bunch of Homeworld gems touched down near our base a few days ago,” Bokuto explained in a sort-of undertone, gesturing avidly with his hands as he spoke, “Suga was the one who suggested we put him under guard and try to negotiate with him, instead of just bubbling his gem or…” He frowned and made a slicing motion with one finger across his throat. Hinata winced, and glanced over at their supposed-captive doubtfully.

 

“What’s his name?” he found himself asking, while twiddling his fingers restlessly and trying to ignore the harsh blue daggers piercing him from across the room.

 

“Kageyama Tobio, he says,” Bokuto replied, stroking his chin as his round, amber eyes turned to the ceiling in thought, “Some kind of titanium silicate I guess...really rare. And he was pretty high up there too, had his own platoon and everything, I’m surprised he surrendered so easily.”

 

Kuroo huffed a laugh, “If you think it was  _ easy _ to subdue that guy, you should try it sometime. Even between the boss and me we barely managed it...and we probably wouldn’t’ve held him long if Suga hadn’t stepped in.”

 

“So...he’s your captive?”

 

The two taller gems exchanged a glance, and Bokuto shrugged while Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. 

 

“Not exactly,” the latter muttered, “I guess you could say we struck a sort of truce, but who knows how long that’ll last? And if what Daichi said about the warp pad being down is true…”

 

“Wait, the warp pad’s down?” Bokuto interrupted loudly, alarm plain in his raised voice, “ _ Our _ warp pad? Since when?”

 

Kuroo immediately made a sort of hissing sound and waved his hands at Bokuto to shut him up, “Shh-shh! Not in front of the…” Jerking his chin in Kageyama’s direction, he kept his voice carefully lowered and went on, “Since this morning, I think...maybe sometime last night, we don’t know what happened exactly…”

 

**[there was supposed to be more in between here, I honestly don’t know what happened between drafts to leave it all disjointed like this]**

  
  


“So,” Bokuto prompted cheerfully, stretching his muscular arms over his head. Hinata glimpsed the glimmering, inverted rainbow of a square gem on his belly, “New recruit, huh? You need a weapon, Short Stuff?”

 

“Oh um --” Hinata stammered, incredibly flustered by just how large and imposing this guy was, “No, I…” Abruptly he broke off, and, with a furtive glance at Kageyama, reconsidered the potential embarrassment of whipping out his dinky little orange boomerang in front of him. “Actually...what’ve you got?”

 

He could have sworn Bokuto’s grin, which was already on the verge of splitting his face, got even wider.

 

“Glad you asked, little guy, glad you asked,” he laughed heartily, turning to one of the heavily armed walls and snatching up what appeared to be an enormous battle axe the color of raw magma. The thing was nearly twice Hinata’s height, its blade almost as broad as the span of his arms and at least three inches thick at its widest point, but Bokuto spun it around like it weighed nothing, planting its impressive base at Hinata’s feet and tilting it toward him in invitation.

 

“I call this baby the Igneous Punisher,” he announced proudly, puffing out his chest, “Think you can handle it, Small Fry?”

 

There was no doubt in Hinata’s mind that  _ it _ could handle  _ him. _ And probably shatter him into dust if he were to so much as pick it up...if he could even fit his hands around its massive girth.

 

“Uh...do you…” his eyes flitted over to Kageyama once again, who was showing no discernable reaction to this menacing piece of destructive hardware, leaning cool and casual with his arms crossed loosely and one foot cocked against the wall. “Do you  _ maybe _ have something a little smaller?”

 

Bokuto blinked, and then realization crossed his face and he withdrew the monstrous halberd from Hinata’s face, “Oh, sure!” he nodded, patting the flat side of the blade affectionately, “I’m not sure I’m ready to part with the Punisher just yet anyway. Kuroo says he can’t leave the two of us alone in a room together, but  _ I _ think he’s just jealous. Let’s see what else we’ve got laying around, hm?”

  
  



End file.
